Warrior Race

by Robert Sheckley

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  Illustrated by SCATTERGOOD]

  By ROBERT SHECKLEY

  WARRIOR RACE

  _Destroying the spirit of the enemy is the goal of war and the aliens had the best way!_

  They never did discover whose fault it was. Fannia pointed out that ifDonnaught had had the brains of an ox, as well as the build, he wouldhave remembered to check the tanks. Donnaught, although twice as big ashim, wasn't quite as fast with an insult. He intimated, after a littlethought, that Fannia's nose might have obstructed his reading of thefuel gauge.

  This still left them twenty light-years from Thetis, with a cupful oftransformer fuel in the emergency tank.

  "All right," Fannia said presently. "What's done is done. We can squeezeabout three light-years out of the fuel before we're back on atomics.Hand me _The Galactic Pilot_--unless you forgot that, too."

  Donnaught dragged the bulky microfilm volume out of its locker, and theyexplored its pages.

  _The Galactic Pilot_ told them they were in a sparse, seldom-visitedsection of space, which they already knew. The nearest planetary systemwas Hatterfield; no intelligent life there. Sersus had a nativepopulation, but no refueling facilities. The same with Illed, Hung andPorderai.

  "Ah-ha!" Fannia said. "Read that, Donnaught. If you can read, that is."

  "Cascella," Donnaught read, slowly and clearly, following the line witha thick forefinger. "Type M sun. Three planets, intelligent (AA3C)human-type life on second. Oxygen-breathers. Non-mechanical. Religious.Friendly. Unique social structure, described in Galactic Survey Report33877242. Population estimate: stable at three billion. Basic Cascellanvocabulary taped under Cas33b2. Scheduled for resurvey 2375 A.D. Cacheof transformer fuel left, beam coordinate 8741 kgl. Physical descript:Unocc. flatland."

  "Transformer fuel, boy!" Fannia said gleefully. "I believe we will getto Thetis, after all." He punched the new direction on the ship's tape."If that fuel's still there."

  "Should we read up on the unique social structure?" Donnaught asked,still poring over _The Galactic Pilot_.

  "Certainly," Fannia said. "Just step over to the main galactic base onEarth and buy me a copy."

  "I forgot," Donnaught admitted slowly.

  "Let me see," Fannia said, dragging out the ship's language library,"Cascellan, Cascellan ... Here it is. Be good while I learn thelanguage." He set the tape in the hypnophone and switched it on."Another useless tongue in my overstuffed head," he murmured, and thenthe hypnophone took over.

  * * * * *

  Coming out of transformer drive with at least a drop of fuel left, theyswitched to atomics. Fannia rode the beam right across the planet,locating the slender metal spire of the Galactic Survey cache. The plainwas no longer unoccupied, however. The Cascellans had built a cityaround the cache, and the spire dominated the crude wood-and-mudbuildings.

  "Hang on," Fannia said, and brought the ship down on the outskirts ofthe city, in a field of stubble.

  "Now look," Fannia said, unfastening his safety belt. "We're just herefor fuel. No souvenirs, no side-trips, no fraternizing."

  Through the port, they could see a cloud of dust from the city. As itcame closer, they made out figures running toward their ship.

  "What do you think this unique social structure is?" Donnaught asked,pensively checking the charge in a needler gun.

  "I know not and care less," Fannia said, struggling into space armor."Get dressed."

  "The air's breathable."

  "Look, pachyderm, for all we know, these Cascellans think the proper wayto greet visitors is to chop off their heads and stuff them with greenapples. If Galactic says unique, it probably means unique."

  "Galactic said they were friendly."

  "That means they haven't got atomic bombs. Come on, get dressed."Donnaught put down the needler and struggled into an oversize suit ofspace armor. Both men strapped on needlers, paralyzers, and a fewgrenades.

  "I don't think we have anything to worry about," Fannia said, tighteningthe last nut on his helmet. "Even if they get rough, they can't crackspace armor. And if they're not rough, we won't have any trouble. Maybethese gewgaws will help." He picked up a box of tradingarticles--mirrors, toys and the like.

  Helmeted and armored, Fannia slid out the port and raised one hand tothe Cascellans. The language, hypnotically placed in his mind, leaped tohis lips.

  "We come as friends and brothers. Take us to the chief."

  The natives clustered around, gaping at the ship and the space armor.Although they had the same number of eyes, ears and limbs as humans,they completely missed looking like them.

  "If they're friendly," Donnaught asked, climbing out of the port, "whyall the hardware?" The Cascellans were dressed predominantly in acollection of knives, swords and daggers. Each man had at least five,and some had eight or nine.

  "Maybe Galactic got their signals crossed," Fannia said, as the nativesspread out in an escort. "Or maybe the natives just use the knives formumblypeg."

  * * * * *

  The city was typical of a non-mechanical culture. Narrow, packed-dirtstreets twisted between ramshackle huts. A few two-story buildingsthreatened to collapse at any minute. A stench filled the air, so strongthat Fannia's filter couldn't quite eradicate it. The Cascellansbounded ahead of the heavily laden Earthmen, dashing around like a packof playful puppies. Their knives glittered and clanked.

  The chief's house was the only three-story building in the city. Thetall spire of the cache was right behind it.

  "If you come in peace," the chief said when they entered, "you arewelcome." He was a middle-aged Cascellan with at least fifteen knivesstrapped to various parts of his person. He squatted cross-legged on araised dais.

  "We are privileged," Fannia said. He remembered from the hypnoticlanguage lesson that "chief" on Cascella meant more than it usually didon Earth. The chief here was a combination of king, high priest, deityand bravest warrior.

  "We have a few simple gifts here," Fannia added, placing the gewgaws atthe king's feet. "Will his majesty accept?"

  "No," the king said. "We accept no gifts." Was that the unique socialstructure? Fannia wondered. It certainly was not human. "We are awarrior race. What we want, we take."

  Fannia sat cross-legged in front of the dais and exchanged conversationwith the king while Donnaught played with the spurned toys. Trying toovercome the initial bad impression, Fannia told the chief about thestars and other worlds, since simple people usually liked fables. Hespoke of the ship, not mentioning yet that it was out of fuel. He spokeof Cascella, telling the chief how its fame was known throughout theGalaxy.

  "That is as it should be," the chief said proudly. "We are a race ofwarriors, the like of which has never been seen. Every man of us diesfighting."

  "You must have fought some great wars," Fannia said politely, wonderingwhat idiot had written up the galactic report.

  "I have not fought a war for many years," the chief said. "We are unitednow, and all our enemies have joined us."

  Bit by bit, Fannia led up to the matter of the fuel.

  "What is this 'fuel'?" the chief asked, haltingly because there was noequivalent for it in the Cascellan language.

  "It makes our ship go."

  "And where is it?"

  "In the metal spire," Fannia said. "If you would just allow us--"

  "In the holy shrine?" the chief exclaimed, shocked. "The tall metalchurch which the gods left here long ago?"

  "Yeah," Fannia said sadly, knowing what was coming. "I guess that'sit."

  "It is sacrilege for an outworlder to go near it," the chief said. "Iforbid it."

  "We
need the fuel." Fannia was getting tired of sitting cross-legged.Space armor wasn't built for complicated postures. "The spire was puthere for such emergencies."

  "Strangers, know that I am god of my people, as well as their leader. Ifyou dare approach the sacred temple, there will be war."

  "I was afraid of that," Fannia said, getting to his feet.

  "And since we are a race of warriors," the chief said, "at my command,every fighting man of the planet will move against you. More will comefrom the hills and from across the rivers."

  Abruptly, the chief drew a knife. It must have been a signal, becauseevery native in the room did the same.

  * * * * *

  Fannia dragged Donnaught away from the toys. "Look, lummox. Thesefriendly warriors can't do a damn thing to us. Those knives can't cutspace armor, and I doubt if they have anything better. Don't let thempile up on you, though. Use the paralyzer first, the needler if theyreally get thick."

  "Right." Donnaught whisked out and primed a paralyzer in a singlecoordinated movement. With weapons, Donnaught was fast and reliable,which was virtue enough for Fannia to keep him as a partner.

  "We'll cut around this building and grab the fuel. Two cans ought to beenough. Then we'll beat it fast."

  They walked out the building, followed by the Cascellans. Four carrierslifted the chief, who was barking orders. The narrow street outside wassuddenly jammed with armed natives. No one tried to touch them yet, butat least a thousand knives were flashing in the sun.

  In front of the cache was a solid phalanx of Cascellans. They stoodbehind a network of ropes that probably marked the boundary betweensacred and profane ground.

  "Get set for it," Fannia said, and stepped over the ropes.

  Immediately the foremost temple guard raised his knife. Fannia broughtup the paralyzer, not firing it yet, still moving forward.

  The foremost native shouted something, and the knife swept across in aglittering arc. The Cascellan gurgled something else, staggered andfell. Bright blood oozed from his throat.

  "I _told_ you not to use the needler yet!" Fannia said.

  "I didn't," Donnaught protested. Glancing back, Fannia saw thatDonnaught's needler was still holstered.

  "Then I don't get it," said Fannia bewilderedly.

  Three more natives bounded forward, their knives held high. They tumbledto the ground also. Fannia stopped and watched as a platoon of nativesadvanced on them.

  Once they were within stabbing range of the Earthmen, the natives wereslitting their own throats!

  Fannia was frozen for a moment, unable to believe his eyes. Donnaughthalted behind him.

  Natives were rushing forward by the hundreds now, their knives poised,screaming at the Earthmen. As they came within range, each nativestabbed himself, tumbling on a quickly growing pile of bodies. Inminutes the Earthmen were surrounded by a heap of bleeding Cascellanflesh, which was steadily growing higher.

  "All right!" Fannia shouted. "Stop it." He yanked Donnaught back withhim, to profane ground. "Truce!" he yelled in Cascellan.

  The crowd parted and the chief was carried through. With two knivesclenched in his fists, he was panting from excitement.

  "We have won the first battle!" he said proudly. "The might of ourwarriors frightens even such aliens as yourselves. You shall not profaneour temple while a man is alive on Cascella!"

  The natives shouted their approval and triumph.

  The two aliens dazedly stumbled back to their ship.

  * * * * *

  "So that's what Galactic meant by 'a unique social structure,'" Fanniasaid morosely. He stripped off his armor and lay down on his bunk."Their way of making war is to suicide their enemies into capitulation."

  "They must be nuts," Donnaught grumbled. "That's no way to fight."

  "It works, doesn't it?" Fannia got up and stared out a porthole. The sunwas setting, painting the city a charming red in its glow. The beams oflight glistened off the spire of the Galactic cache. Through the opendoorway they could hear the boom and rattle of drums. "Tribal call toarms," Fannia said.

  "I still say it's crazy." Donnaught had some definite ideas on fighting."It ain't human."

  "I'll buy that. The idea seems to be that if enough people slaughterthemselves, the enemy gives up out of sheer guilty conscience."

  "What if the enemy doesn't give up?"

  "Before these people united, they must have fought it out tribe totribe, suiciding until someone gave up. The losers probably joined thevictors; the tribe must have grown until it could take over the planetby sheer weight of numbers." Fannia looked carefully at Donnaught,trying to see if he understood. "It's anti-survival, of course; ifsomeone didn't give up, the race would probably kill themselves." Heshook his head. "But war of any kind is anti-survival. Perhaps they'vegot rules."

  "Couldn't we just barge in and grab the fuel quick?" Donnaught asked."And get out before they all killed themselves?"

  "I don't think so," Fannia said. "They might go on committing suicidefor the next ten years, figuring they were still fighting us." He lookedthoughtfully at the city. "It's that chief of theirs. He's their god andhe'd probably keep them suiciding until he was the only man left. Thenhe'd grin, say, 'We are great warriors,' and kill himself."

  Donnaught shrugged his big shoulders in disgust. "Why don't we knock himoff?"

  "They'd just elect another god." The sun was almost below the horizonnow. "I've got an idea, though," Fannia said. He scratched his head. "Itmight work. All we can do is try."

  * * * * *

  At midnight, the two men sneaked out of the ship, moving silently intothe city. They were both dressed in space armor again. Donnaught carriedtwo empty fuel cans. Fannia had his paralyzer out.

  The streets were dark and silent as they slid along walls and aroundposts, keeping out of sight. A native turned a corner suddenly, butFannia paralyzed him before he could make a sound.

  They crouched in the darkness, in the mouth of an alley facing thecache.

  "Have you got it straight?" Fannia asked. "I paralyze the guards. Youbolt in and fill up those cans. We get the hell out of here, quick. Whenthey check, they find the cans still there. Maybe they won't commitsuicide then."

  The men moved across the shadowy steps in front of the cache. There werethree Cascellans guarding the entrance, their knives stuck in theirloincloths. Fannia stunned them with a medium charge, and Donnaughtbroke into a run.

  Torches instantly flared, natives boiled out of every alleyway,shouting, waving their knives.

  "We've been ambushed!" Fannia shouted. "Get back here, Donnaught!"

  Donnaught hurriedly retreated. The natives had been waiting for them.Screaming, yowling, they rushed at the Earthmen, slitting their ownthroats at five-foot range. Bodies tumbled in front of Fannia, almosttripping him as he backed up. Donnaught caught him by an arm and yankedhim straight. They ran out of the sacred area.

  "Truce, damn it!" Fannia called out. "Let me speak to the chief. Stopit! Stop it! I want a truce!"

  Reluctantly, the Cascellans stopped their slaughter.

  "This is war," the chief said, striding forward. His almost human facewas stern under the torchlight. "You have seen our warriors. You knownow that you cannot stand against them. The word has spread to all ourlands. My entire people are prepared to do battle."

  He looked proudly at his fellow-Cascellans, then back to the Earthmen."I myself will lead my people into battle now. There will be no stoppingus. We will fight until you surrender yourselves completely, strippingoff your armor."

  "Wait, Chief," Fannia panted, sick at the sight of so much blood. Theclearing was a scene out of the Inferno. Hundreds of bodies weresprawled around. The streets were muddy with blood.

  "Let me confer with my partner tonight. I will speak with you tomorrow."

  "No," the chief said. "You started the battle. It must go to itsconclusion. Brave men wish to die in battle. It is our fondest
wish. Youare the first enemy we have had in many years, since we subdued themountain tribes."

  "Sure," Fannia said. "But let's talk about it--"

  "I myself will fight you," the chief said, holding up a dagger. "I willdie for my people, as a warrior must!"

  "Hold it!" Fannia shouted. "Grant us a truce. We are allowed to fightonly by sunlight. It is a tribal taboo."

  The chief thought for a moment, then said, "Very well. Until tomorrow."

  The beaten Earthmen walked slowly back to their ship amid the jeers ofthe victorious populace.

  * * * * *

  Next morning, Fannia still didn't have a plan. He knew that he had tohave fuel; he wasn't planning on spending the rest of his life onCascella, or waiting until the Galactic Survey sent another ship, infifty years or so. On the other hand, he hesitated at the idea of beingresponsible for the death of anywhere up to three billion people. Itwouldn't be a very good record to take to Thetis. The Galactic Surveymight find out about it. Anyway, he just wouldn't do it.

  He was stuck both ways.

  Slowly, the two men walked out to meet the chief. Fannia was stillsearching wildly for an idea while listening to the drums booming.

  "If there was only someone we could fight," Donnaught mourned, lookingat his useless blasters.

  "That's the deal," Fannia said. "Guilty conscience is making sinners ofus all, or something like that. They expect us to give in before thecarnage gets out of hand." He considered for a moment. "It's not socrazy, actually. On Earth, armies don't usually fight until every lastman is slaughtered on one side. Someone surrenders when they've hadenough."